


a necessary perception

by northern



Series: where you can always find me [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, ItsStillBeautiful, M/M, Manipulative Will, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Praise, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northern/pseuds/northern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He reminds himself that the book is for Will, and the slight weight of Will's hand on his chest is for Hannibal. This will be a waiting game as much as anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a necessary perception

**Author's Note:**

> Start with the first part of the series, or this won't make sense.
> 
> Thank you Elizaria and Damnslippyplanet!

The time for Will to get more use out of the tools Hannibal has ceded to him is the next day. Hannibal finds it difficult to fully let go of yesterday's revelations, but Will looks like he's slept well, his manner relaxed and confident.

"You've asked me for more," Will says, "and I agree. I think you would do well with more, so we're going to work on a new command."

Commands are for dogs and not for men, and Hannibal feels a shiver of outraged shame which he knows he won't act on. The feeling is starting to get familiar.

"We'll do 'down' today," Will goes on. "I'll explain first, so you'll know what I want of you."

He looks at Hannibal expectantly until Hannibal nods. 'Down' sounds worse than kneeling, and better. Possibly not as ostentatiously seeking a master's approval, but also possibly a more complete and submissive obeisance.

"I thought about what would work best for what I want, and what we're doing is this: I will say, 'Hannibal, down', and you will lie down on your back with your head in my lap. If I'm not sitting where that's easily done, you'll lie down on the floor, on your back."

"Why on my back?" Hannibal asks. He can understand the aesthetics of having a man on his knees, but reclining as if resting, or just flat on the floor? It seems inelegant.

"The position is for my benefit and not yours," Will says. "If I'm sitting on the couch, I like to snuggle with my dog. It's so I can pet you easily. I'll expect you to stay still for quite some time."

Undignified, but understandable. "And the floor equivalent?"

"I might need a foot rest. Dogs are warm." Will smiles at him. "Especially big dogs like you."

Will must know the challenge of such a demand. For Will to use Hannibal as nothing but a thing to rest and warm his feet on… he's not sure he can actually go through with it. Some of it must show on his face, despite his efforts not to react, because Will's smile becomes even wider.

"Don't worry, puppy," he says. "We won't be trying that today."

Hannibal takes a measured breath. Puppy.

Will takes the collar out and sets it on the coffee table. "Now," he says, "Hannibal, come here."

The coffee table is shifted to the side a bit to make room and Hannibal kneels in the space made for him, letting Will buckle the collar around his neck and call him a good boy. Then Will leans back in his seat, making sure he has Hannibal's attention.

"Hannibal, down," he says.

Hannibal feels awkward as he climbs from his kneeling position onto the couch, maneuvering himself until he's lying down with his head in Will's lap. It seems like an easy position to be in, though. It's common enough in relationships to spend time like this together, apart from the fact that he is wearing a collar which signifies that he is Will's pet.

"That's a good boy," Will says conversationally and scratches with his fingers through Hannibal's hair. "Well done." Then he picks up his book about deep sea fishing, slides down slightly in his seat and puts his feet on the table. He uses one hand to balance the book between Hannibal's head and his own knee and puts the other on Hannibal's chest, patting him before settling in to read.

Hannibal can't see much more of the book than the dark blue color scheme of the occasional picture, since it's too close to his face and the wrong angle. He reminds himself that the book is for Will, and the slight weight of Will's hand on his chest is for Hannibal. This will be a waiting game as much as anything else.

After a few minutes, just as Hannibal has begun to think about what he'll make for dinner tomorrow, Will shifts slightly and starts to pet him — long, slow strokes with his hand from Hannibal's sternum to his belly. Hannibal glances up at Will's face, but Will is reading his book, not paying much attention to what his hand is doing. It's strange, being close to ignored like this, when he is so obviously present. In a way, it's making him feel closer to what he imagines a dog would feel in this position. Reduced to waiting, accepting his master's hand for as long as it is given. It's both easier and more difficult that he's not the center of Will's attention: easier because it allows him to try to do what Will has asked without scrutiny, but harder because he always wants Will to pay full attention to him, to see him and acknowledge all that they have in common. Will's stroking is… pleasant, but Hannibal doesn't feel like he can fully relax into it. He doesn't fidget, but his body wants to shift, to move.

It takes him a few minutes of staying carefully still under slow, absentminded petting to realize what his body is actually telling him. He is getting aroused. Will's palm drags over his nipple through his shirt every few passes, and the strokes all end low on his belly. He tries to shift to the side a bit.

"Shh, puppy, settle down," Will says and grabs him by the hair behind his ear, closing his fist so that all the strands he's caught pull taut against Hannibal's scalp.

Hannibal inhales and stills, waiting for what might happen. Will keeps his grip for a second or two, his bare forearm pressed against the side of Hannibal's neck — it's not strictly painful, but it feels startlingly intimate — and then lets his fingers relax, his arm fall away. The air Hannibal was holding in rushes out and he stays still, waiting.

The stroking resumes.

Hannibal looks up at the ceiling, trying to calm his body down. If he was getting aroused before, he is definitely there now. Yet Will shows no sign of having noticed anything out of the ordinary, though it must be obvious what his carefully controlled breathing signifies, not to speak of the way his hardening cock is visibly distending the fabric of his pants. He must assume that Will knows the effect he's having on Hannibal, yet for some reason is choosing to ignore it. Therefore, he must try to do the same.

He closes his eyes and tries to relax, to absent himself from his body as a way to regain control. He travels to the library in the old mansion outside of Köln, to look at the finely detailed drawings there, but Will is part of him now and he finds himself on one of the padded reading benches in a deep window niche, his head in Will's lap as Will reads in the waning light from the large old windows. It does not lessen his arousal. His inability to escape, which should by all reason make him feel alarmed, excites him instead. Will is influencing not only Hannibal's body and emotions, but the pathways of his mind as well. Where once he travelled alone and all-powerful, he is now subject to another person's perception of him.

Will's hand cups Hannibal's cock through his pants and his eyes fly open. He barely manages to suppress the urge to make noise in reaction, but his body tenses and he tilts his head back to seek Will's gaze. Will glances once at him, his face uncharacteristically inscrutable, and then returns to his book. His hand stays where it is.

Hannibal breathes carefully as Will begins to stroke him, slow and firm, with absolutely no other acknowledgement of what is happening. It feels strangely like a violation, that Will would do this so callously, and the feeling makes something flare in Hannibal. He reaches for Will's arm, grasping for at least one other connection, but Will takes him by the wrist and gently puts his hand down again, by his side.

"Quiet, puppy," he says. "Be still. Just let it happen."

The words make Hannibal's throat close up. Will means for him to lie still and take this, a forced lack of interaction to deny Hannibal any influence. It is a particular kind of violence, against which Hannibal has little defence. He lies passive, thighs open, feeling perilously close to tears as Will rubs between his legs with no more finesse than he would scratch behind a dog's ear. Finesse isn't needed. Will isn't even watching him as Hannibal's orgasm builds up faster than he would think possible with this kind of stimulation.

A small noise of yearning escapes him, but he grits his teeth and turns his head, hiding his face against Will's sweater. The warm smell of him makes it a little easier to endure, but he feels very small like this, helpless and denied, his breathing stuttering as the pleasure rises, drawn out of him seemingly whether he wants it or not. His body soon does what Will expects of it and Hannibal shudders through the orgasm, face pressed so tightly against Will that he can barely breathe.

Will takes his hand away when he's coaxed the last of the spasms out of Hannibal. He puts it on Hannibal's head instead, wordlessly stroking as his breathing finally slows. Hannibal feels weak, his body suddenly limp after what feels like hours straining to keep still for Will, his ears ringing with the sound of his heartbeat. Something feels unfinished, and he lets himself turn his head again, arches his neck to search for Will, half afraid that he will still be denied.

But Will is finally looking at him, seeing him, and Hannibal doesn't care if his face is damp and his pants sticky with his release. He has changed his mind. He will gladly lie down on the floor for Will to rest his feet on him. He would do anything to see the warm approval in Will's eyes directed at him now.

"Good boy," Will tells him as he strokes Hannibal's face, his book put away and done with. "Well done. That's just what I wanted."


End file.
